Monday, September 27, 2010

Enjoy The Show

So today this is my song. Sometimes you feel like your life is captured in a song. At least for the moment.... Enjoy the show... That's one of my goals for this year. I'm working on it and getting better! xoxox

So This One Time...

Some of this blog is going to become part of a book. The Wendy Diaries are going to be very popular. Here is another old story.


I was in a play and I was partnered with a boy just younger than me. This poor boy was so very unfortunate. Home-schooled. Sweaty. Doorbell ditching obesity’s doorstep. The most awkward human I have ever met. I was playing a prostitute in the show, and he was told to be a flirty gold miner in the bar. His idea of flirting: getting way to close to my face with his unbrushed breath and then wiggling his sweaty, dirty, fingers under my chin, squealing, “flirty, flirty, flirty!” I asked him to please stop doing that.

One time while we were waiting to run on stage for our scene, he decided to act out the love song scene currently happening on stage. He sang the loving words and proceeded to get closer and closer to my body and my face. I had a very confused look pasted on and sat frozen in my confused state. At the same moment the couple on stage dove into a passionate kiss, he pounced toward my mouth. In record time, I regained my composure and ducked for cover. We then ran on stage.

Days later, my mother got a call from this young man. He asked her if I was available the next weekend. She told him I was and ended the conversation.

Later that day she asked me if I was free the next week. I knew there was something fishy. I coaxed the information out of her that homeschooled kid had called. I was furious. I begged her to call him back and tell him that I wasn’t available. She said, “Cara that is so rude, give him just one chance. Be nice.” The reality was that I actually was not free that weekend. My best friend was in town and it was our mutual good friend’s birthday that night. I explained this to her in a panic. I also explained to her that, technically I wasn’t allowed to go on single dates at the time. I also explained that I was scared of the kid.

I finally convinced her to call. But she was bamboozled. She explained that out family rule was that I could not single date until I was 18. She asked him if he could please get a friend to come along. His reply: “I don’t have any friends.”

She broke down with remorse for the unfortunate child. She told him to go on ahead and ask me!

I cried.

A few days later, my mother told me to go clean my room for a while. I went. Five minutes later, my little sister burst into my room and teased me to go out in the front yard. I wouldn’t go. 20 minutes later my mom came and yelled at me and told me I was being rude.

So I stomped my way outside and found my front yard covered with lunch bags filled with sand and candles. There was some clever poem asking me to accompany him to the Riparian Preserve the next week for a luminary festival.

Something like this...>

I was so embarrassed at the level of intensity this date was having. Then I realized. I was going to be his first date ever. Oh joy.

I sent him an email with some kind of rhyme that said I would go. Only after another battle with my mother about me being nice and giving everyone a chance.

Surprise, surprise. The night of the date, my parents decided to go out of town. I was left alone with no one to threaten the kid to have me home on time or to treat me with respect.

So I called my best friend. He showed up at my door with our mutual friend; they both wore huge dark trench coats and reflective aviator sunglasses.

They answered the door when homeschooled kid showed up. They interviewed him with some of the funniest questions I have ever heard: How do you feel about the war in Iraq? How long have you had your driver’s license? Have you ever kissed a girl? What time do you plan on having Cara home this evening?

I hid in my room and laughed until I cried a little bit. At the end of the interview, I emerged. I wore my mother’s long coat with deep pockets. I wanted to be prepared for a sneaky hand attack.

We drove in his very small truck to the Riparian Preserve about 15 minutes away from my house.

We walked around in the night following the luminary lit pathways. I kept my hands safely tucked away in the deep pockets of my mother’s coat.

I talked incessantly in order to avoid awkward silence and even more awkward conversation from his mouth.

Once we had walked over every inch of that place, he walked me back to his truck. He drove to his neighborhood and we again walked. This time it was through the Christmas lights of the courtyard of his country club. I ran out of things to talk about. Therefore, he had room to talk. What did he choose…. The war in Iraq. We had conflicting opinions, but I was not about to have that discussion with him. We jumped into his truck and sat for a minute in quiet.

“So are we just watching other people drive in the parking lot?” I asked.

He then threw out his own conversation. “So are you anything like your character?”

“Umm, are you asking me if I am a prostitute?”

“Well I, I , I,”

“Seriously? No. It is definitely just a character. Not a part of me at all. No. I am not a whore.”

“Oh, I just… I mean…”

“Yeah… right…. I think we should go.”

He started the truck. We drove back to my neighborhood. It was my friend’s birthday, so we went to the party because I had previously mentioned it trying to get out of the date, but he just invited himself.

Through this party, he proceeded to “flirt” with my best friend, and definitely got her number. Of course I supported this action in order to sway his creepy attention away from me.

Poor, poor lost boy. I am not your Wendy.


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